


Birthday

by xSparklingRavenx



Category: End of Eternity | Resonance of Fate
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Cake, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:24:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4184925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xSparklingRavenx/pseuds/xSparklingRavenx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three people, three days in a year, three birthdays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vashyron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO I have returned from a moderate length absence with a new Resonance of Fate fic! I've had a lot of trouble writing lately, and even this I found difficult because I'm so rusty, but I still hope it's enjoyable! This one is pretty character studyish for Vashyron, even if I didn't intend it to be aha!
> 
> Maybe one day I'll stop writing cute fluff and actually write something with a plot!

Once, back in the army barracks, before Lucia and all the horror that came with it, Vashyron remembers a time when Victor had been sneaking around after dark. It was always after everyone was – or should have been – in bed, his friend’s shadowed form closing doors in just the right way so that they wouldn’t creak. At the time Vashyron had thought nothing much of it, only hoping that his older friend had the sense to not be caught by any drill instructors during his nightly outings. If he wanted to go and have fun doing who knows what, that was up to him – it wasn’t as if he’d be doing anything that would upset Theresa. Victor’s business wasn’t Vashyron’s and besides, if he thought he could get away with it, he’d be out there partying it up himself anyway.

He remembers Victor darting in and out all week like some sort of criminal, not mentioning a thing to Vashyron or anyone else of where he may have been during the evenings. Fair enough, he’d thought as they spoke about their day or whatever had occurred during training, it was no big deal. He came back with the occasional scratch or bruise but that wasn’t anything that couldn’t be attributed to training, so the instructors passed it off as that while Vashyron decided it was probably the product of a drunken bar fight. If someone was to say he was a little envious of Victor’s potential adventures, well, they wouldn’t be exactly making things up.

It was only at the end of the week, when Victor stealthily passed him a bottle of expensive looking beer while the rest of the recruits were sleeping that Vashyron understood. “Happy Birthday,” he’d whispered with a smirk, “Keep holding your own for me.”

Of course, then it had all added up. Cut off from his Cardinal wealth, Victor had been acting as a makeshift PMF to make up the money. The bruises and scratches made sense. Vashyron had never called himself the sentimental type – that word was reserved for the women he endeavoured to meet – but in that moment perhaps he had been slightly touched. He wasn’t the type of person people went out of their way to help, but here he was with a birthday gift (of _beer!)_ and a good friend and he couldn’t stop himself slapping Victor on the back, grinning wide, and cracking it open. “Like I’d be dead weight,” he’d replied, finding it difficult to be quiet. “Thanks.”

It’s been a long time since that day – long enough for Vashyron to get nostalgic about it when he drinks the same brand of beer now – but the point is that he’s aware of when people are sneaking around and trying to keep things from him. He’d never asked Victor because Victor was a) older than him and b) an adult who could do whatever the hell he wanted, but Zephyr and Leanne are neither of those things.

(Well. Leanne _is_ twenty one. But she’s younger than him, and she didn’t know how to operate a cooker last year so she doesn’t really class as adult material in his eyes. He can justify this one.)

“Kids,” he says on the second morning after he notices they’ve been oddly quiet and absent from their living quarters. Zephyr looks up from cleaning a machine gun, scowling at his word choice while Leanne rubs her eyes tiredly. “Hah, that got your attention.”

“We’re not your kids,” Zephyr says flippantly, yawning as he puts the various parts of his gun back together. “What do you want?”

“You may as well be. I was just kinda intrigued as to what you’re both up to,” Vashyron answers, leaning back against the bathroom door. He watches Leanne look towards Zephyr, who looks back at her with his eyebrows slightly drawn. “Oh this should be interesting.”

“We’re not doing anything,” Leanne says sweetly, focusing her eyes back on him. “Just getting ready for our job today.”

“Another joint one, huh?” Vashyron had known that they had been receiving offers more and more lately, so maybe his suspicions were actually unfounded. “Same thing as yesterday then?”

“You got it,” Zephyr nods, standing up stretching his arms. “We’re busy all week, so you can go do whatever I guess.”

“ _Whatever?_ With the way this is going, you kids aren’t gonna need me anymore. Is it ‘cause I’m getting old? Can’t fire a gun fast enough for you anymore? Crack my back too much when I leap?”

“You’re twenty six, Vashyron,” Leanne says, giggling. “I think we’ll still have use for you yet.”

“Twenty seven on Saturday,” Vashyron corrects.

“Yeah, _old._ ” Zephyr adds. “I dunno, Leanne. Maybe he’s right. Maybe we should take over Sweet Home for ourselves and put this guy in a home.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, Zephyr.” Vashyron says, matching Zephyr’s smirk with his own. “Alright, alright, fine, go on then, enjoy your job, come home alive, you know the drill. This old guy can’t come and rescue you if you get into some kind of tight spot.”

Leanne shakes her head in a fond kind of way while Zephyr rolls his eyes, and shortly after they’re both out the door, letting it slam shut behind them. He’s on his own, the only thing to keep him company being the sound of gears twisting and the silent TV. He doesn’t have any jobs today because he’d decided that he could afford to take the week off as his own birthday present to himself. With Zephyr and Leanne out of the house, it’s actually somewhat sad.

He decides to do what he did yesterday – waste the day watching TV and kicking back without a care in the world. He falls back into the couch with a wince – he probably needs to buy a new one; it’s gotten uncomfortable with age – and flicks the old set on with a press of the remote button. It buzzes to life with a daytime drama about some fictional account of the hard lives of Albona citizens that he doesn’t particularly care for (more of Leanne’s fare than his). If he wanted to know how difficult it was for them, he’d go down there himself and see it firsthand. The romanticised edition playing out before him only makes him turn the channel.

He ends up on an action movie about a hardened hunter who gets all the women and kills legions of unnamed bandits or soldiers. In another lifetime he could have been the star of this sort of movie, the type of hunter who was only out for a good time and didn’t have much else to fight for. He laughs at the thought, and then realises that the Vashyron of that lifetime would also probably have killed Zephyr and would never have known of Leanne’s existence either. It’s sobering, if nothing else, and doesn’t warrant any further musing.

Since when had he let himself get so soft? Since when had he started to feel lonely without their presence? They’ve been gone for twenty minutes and already he’s gone philosophical and ridiculous. Maybe he really is getting old.

The TV gets old quickly so the rest of his morning is spent being mundane. He takes a shower, leaves his hair down for once as it dries, eats an entire packet of biscuits, considers going back to bed. All of this takes him to exactly midday, so with nothing else to do, he heads out for a wander around town. The summer heat of August beats down on his back, and briefly he wishes for the hair tie he left on the coffee table. He finds himself at the guild trying to guess which job Leanne and Zephyr are on before mooching over to Daniel’s place to look at gun parts. When that doesn’t prove as entertaining as he’d hoped, he ends up down at Level 7, day drinking at Le Chit Chat Noir.

It carries on for the week, Zephyr and Leanne disappearing in the morning for their job while he traipses up and down Basel looking for something to do. When they get home at the end of the day Leanne always asks, “So how was your day?” and he’d really like to reply but it was awesome, that he got into some epic gun fights, or that he just found some really exquisite tasting beer. But that would be lying, and Vashyron likes to think he is an honest man.

Instead he shrugs his shoulders and says, “Eh, not too bad I guess.”

Boredom is a funny thing, and it makes time drag like a yeti through mud. He could go and take a job but that would defeat the purpose of his birthday present to himself. He wishes Saturday would come past sooner, so he can finally lug Leanne and Zephyr to the Chandelier restaurant he’s had booked for months. He hasn’t told them yet, figures he’ll wait to see their faces when he walks in and asks for his table. He’s never been one for fancy dinner parties for birthdays, having always enjoyed the pub life more, but he’s got one underage kid with him who he can’t really leave out as much as Leanne would probably enjoy an evening of drinking. That’s the problem with adopting kids, he thinks. Goodbye freedom.

When Saturday eventually rolls on by, he’s sleeping in, because as soon he opens his eyes he’s got to face the fact that he’s only three years away from thirty. Maybe he will buy himself that new sofa. This one is like a decaying wooden bench for all the comfort it offers. The fact he’s been sleeping on it for the better part of a year and a half probably doesn’t help matters much. He had a bed, once.

Suddenly, something clatters loudly, like symbols clashing down on a hardened surface. Sleepily, he blinks himself fully awake, pulling himself out of the wretched sofa. Where had it come from? The kitchen? How odd. He’d thought he’d be alone until evening.

As he approaches the kitchen, he can hear their voices, hushed but identifiable. “That’s now how you do it, Zephyr!” Leanne hisses, her voice acidic. “This goes in first.”

”Um, no it doesn’t.” Zephyr’s voice comes back, equal parts frustrated and sarcastic. “Look, pour the flour in now.”

“Oh come on, that’s obviously not right. If we put these eggs on top of all that it’s all going to go soggy.”

“What kind of reasoning is that?! If we put all the flour on top of the eggs it’s gonna be wet anyway!”

“No it won’t, it’ll dry it all up, right?”

“It’s not supposed to be dry!”

“How do you know? Have you ever cooked one of these before?”

“Well, no, but…” Zephyr trails off, and then Vashyron hears even more banging about. Well. That’s his curiosity sufficiently piqued. Throwing open the kitchen door, he finds what can only be described as…not the chaos he expected.

Sure, there’s some white powder scattered about the work surfaces, making it look as if snow has dusted the tops, and Zephyr’s got a death grip on a mixing bowl that Leanne’s trying to take from him, but other than that, it actually isn’t too bad. He’s not quite sure why there’s an overturned baking tin on the side, or why there’s even a baking tin at all in the house (he’s certainly never baked anything), but he can deal.

They both turn to look at him, freezing mid motion, a most excellent example of two deer caught in headlights, and then Zephyr uses the opportunity to pull the mixing bowl away from Leanne triumphantly. “Hey-!” she begins, and then stops herself short, offering Vashyron a sheepish smile. “Uh, Happy Birthday!”

He looks between them, putting two and two together. Zephyr’s turned his back on him, furiously dumping ingredients into his bowl. “I thought you two were supposed to be at work.”

“We’ve already done everything,” Leanne explains, dusting her pig shirt free of muck. “But, you weren’t supposed to wake up and see yet.”

“And Leanne was about to ruin all of our hard earned ingredients,” Zephyr mutters, earning himself the kind of horrifying glare only Leanne can manage. “We had to work all week for these!”

“We wanted to surprise you,” Leanne says.

" _You_ wanted to surprise him.” Zephyr cuts in.

Leanne gives him a suffering glance, but then looks back to Vashyron with a smile. “Cake ingredients are hard to find, but we asked Cardinal Theresa for help. She got hold of them for us – and asked us to do her some odd jobs in return!”

It’s quiet for a moment, Leanne looking at him expectantly while Zephyr keeps mixing. He isn’t quite sure of how he’s supposed to react, but he does know what he’s feeling – it’s the same as when Victor presented the bottle. Perhaps, if Vashyron _had_ been the sentimental type – which as he’s already asserted, he is definitely not – he would hug them both in gratitude. But he’s not, and he’s certainly not that soppy either, so he puts his hands in his pockets, leans against the door, and says, “Hn. Well, as long as it looks edible, guess I can try it.”

Leanne’s eyebrows crease. “What!? After all the trouble we went to-!”

He cuts her off with a laugh. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I’m grateful, really. Haven’t had anyone go to this sort of trouble for a long time. Speaking of, when you guys get dressed, make sure to put your best on.”

Zephyr stops mixing, turning to face him. “Best?” he says warily. “Like, jeans and t-shirt best?”

“If you bring those ratty clothes anywhere near the establishment I’ve got in mind they’ll boot you off Chandelier,” Vashyron says, winking. “And I’m not saying that shirt with the printed on tie is any better. That weird collar-choker-belt-neck thing of yours probably won’t fly either, so don’t even bother.”

“So what you’re actually saying is my entire wardrobe is out.”

“You’ve still got Jean Paulet’s wedding crap haven’t you? Just wear that without the jacket.” Zephyr rolls his eyes at him, but with that said, Vashyron turns to Leanne. “I’m sure you’ve got some fancy dress or another stashed away in your wardrobe, right?”

Leanne blinks at him. “Well, yeah, I guess, but where are we actually going?”

Here it is. He’s ready to lay it on thick. “Oh yeah, did I forget to mention? I booked a table at the _Quartz Diner_ for dinner tonight.”

Leanne stares at him. “No way. Hold on. In Chandelier?”

Vashyron smirks. “You know any other restaurants by that name?”

“How did you afford _that?_ ” Zephyr says incredulously, moving the contents of his bowl into the now-right-side-up baking tin. “That place costs more than three months of our rent combined!”

“Eh, I keep a stash,” Vashyron shrugs. “You leave money to me, you guys just need to get yourselves looking half way presentable.”

“I can’t believe it,” Leanne says. “The _Quartz Diner!_ I’m going to stuff myself silly with all that food!”

“Is that before or after we eat cake?” Zephyr asks, chucking it in the oven. “I think that’s right…hope so, anyway.”

“Definitely before, and then we can come back here, give Vashyron his presents, light the candles, and sing him a happy birthday!”

“What now, you’re gonna sing?” Vashyron says, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know what’ll happen first – my death from cringing so badly or the windows breaking from your voice.”

Leanne gasps. “There’s no need to be rude! Keep going like that and there won’t be any presents to give. Besides, there’s no need to direct all that at me, cause Zephyr will be singing too.”

“No, Zephyr will _not,_ ” Zephyr says warningly.

“Oh come on, come on, it’ll be great!”

“Hah, great.” Vashyron repeats, nodding. And yeah, it isn’t a glamorous party with cocktails and Cardinals, and no, it isn’t a night at the pub ending in black eyes from a confrontation gone wrong, but it is a hard earned cake, with some gifts and an evening out.

Some things have to be done in their distinct style, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were interested, Zephyr's cake turns out uneven and slightly burned. Vashyron isn't too sure about eating it, but the looks on Zephyr and Leanne's faces are enough to scare him into it. (He's kidding he'd have eaten it regardless)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I don't know when I'll get around to Zephyr and Leanne's, but I'll try!


	2. Zephyr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When his birthday comes around for the 18th time, he lies in bed for a long while, breathing in and out in time with the gears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT HAS BEEN SUCH A LONG TIME! Life happened and I've been busy and uninspired, but I finally made it! This one is based on a lot of headcanons and introspective Zephyr stuff, and oh man is he difficult to write. Here's hoping I got his voice right!

Sometimes, rarely, when Zephyr takes the time to think about the Seminary it fills him with a cold sense of dread that it hadn’t always been as bad as he likes to tell himself. It’s easy to forget the rare acts of kindness that had been offered, from a girl he’d never realised had shared his blood until it had been too late, from a Cardinal who had been strict but fair. When associations with the holy place are a culmination of gunfire and fear, blood in his mouth, his head ringing, it can be difficult to separate the feelings. On some clearer nights, he can.

A birthday present, because for all of Zephyr’s blasphemous behaviour, Cardinal Lagerfeld had cared for all of the children in the Seminary equally. A holy text wrapped in silver paper that shone like stars while he had been learning to read so he no longer had to fight his way to share with the children who ostracised him. His memory of Lagerfeld is sullied, dripping with fear and the downpour of Rainy Bridge, covering the more favourable recollections like smog. It’s unfair and he knows it, but he has never considered himself rational.

When his birthday comes around for the 18th time, he lies in bed for a long while, breathing in and out in time with the gears. Each extra breath is one he’s been granted by something bigger than he’ll ever be, and the thought turns his stomach. Vashyron had always called it miraculous, but that word makes Zephyr want to tear his hair out in clumps just so he can feel the pain in his scalp. Miracles don’t exist, because if they do, then Zephyr has to contend with the fact that maybe there is a God out there, and that God saw him worthy of saving.

It’s too early in the morning for these kinds of feelings; he’s making himself feel like throwing up already and he’s spent enough of his time being ill from dark thoughts. He sits up, rubs his eyes, and catches sight of his tattered Bible on his desk. Why hasn’t he thrown it away? Made his room sparser? He knows exactly why, but he doesn’t care to admit it to himself.

The icy air of November gets under his skin when he leaves his room to go downstairs, as sharp as him on a bad day and just as bitter. His bed clothes are little protection, but the wardrobe is downstairs and he left his jacket over the back of the sofa last night. The flap in the roof is shut, probably because Basel’s unstable weather cycle means that snow could be on the horizon anytime now. He remembers a time when it had been just him and Vashyron, after a bad night in which the two of them had ended up asleep in the living room. Presumably Vashyron had been so tired after calming him down that he’d forgotten the chill in the room, falling asleep with him, and the next morning they’d awoken to a pile of growing snow next to the couch. He smiles at the memory.

The smell of warm toast makes its way up the stairs, the smell of home. Leanne and Vashyron’s voices are cheerful and conversational, a comfort they’ll never know they’re providing. For once he puts on his best happy face and heads down to meet them. “Hey, not interrupting, am I?”

The two of them are sat on the sofa, munching toast with the TV on like another old friend in the background. Leanne looks up at him, and when she takes in his expression, her eyebrows rise up higher than normal. “Happy Birthday, Zephyr! You look pleased.”

Vashyron’s eyebrows also shoot up. “Zephyr? Not scowling? Are pigs flying? Are gremlins changing their thieving ways?”

Zephyr crosses his arms, allowing his eyes to narrow ever so slightly. “Stop that. I can be happy, can’t I?”

“There he is!” Vashyron cries, placing his toast down on the coffee table. “There’s the moody Zephyr we all know and love.”

“Are _you_ happy now?”

“Yeah, course I am. You’re of drinking age now, _finally._ ”

Not that that’s mattered to Vashyron before, Zephyr thinks, remembering the many different alcoholic drinks he’s been made to try over the course of their friendship. None of them ever seem to agree with him. “Finally,” Leanne echoes, a charming smile lighting up her face. “I’m glad you finally decided to get up! I wanted to come deliver presents to you but Vashryon told me to let you sleep in.”

Zephyr runs a hand through his messy bed-hair at her words, not quite knowing how to reply. Before them, he’d never thought that he’d ever have people in his life who’d care about him enough to do something trivial like celebrating his birthday, but here he is standing before two people who do. “That’s…thanks. Really.”

Leanne smiles at him again, blue eyes sparkling like quartz stones. “You know it’s fine. Everyone likes presents for their birthday, right? And everyone likes being celebrated.”

Darker ideas try and press their way through her words, maladaptive thoughts as he tells himself he isn’t worth this, that someone like him shouldn’t have this kind of privilege. Vashyron scoots his way into the middle of the sofa to let him sit, and he does on a sort of auto-pilot, hating how easily he can be swayed by his own mind. He shouldn’t be here, he thinks, not when all those other children aren’t. How old would they all be by now? His age? Slightly younger? His sister, how old would she be?

“You’re not on the rota today, I promised to make all the food if Vashyron did the dishes,” Leanne carries on, but his face has dropped and her eyebrows have changed, giving her a comically concerned kind of expression. “Hey, Zephyr?”

He shakes his head, as if the action will dispel the thoughts. “Yeah?”

“I’m going to make you the greatest cake you have ever seen! Just you wait, okay? I know which way to do the eggs and flour now.” she pauses, leaning over Vashyron to brush her hand against his. “And wait ‘til you see what I’ve got planned for dinner.”

“Yeah, we had a big fight over that,” Vashyron snorts. “ _But no Vashyron! We can’t just microwave something! That’s an insult!”_

“It is!” Leanne insists. “You have to put effort into it!”

“Better something microwaved than me burning Sweet Home down,” Vashyron says, “which is exactly what would happen if I was let loose in the kitchen.”

“You say that like you’re better than me,” Leanne says, biting the inside of her cheek. “But let’s face it; none of us can cook anything past pasta.”

“I can’t believe it. How did I end up in a house where no one has any skill in cooking? That’s a vital element to life!”

“What are the chances?” Leanne agrees, and then sighs deeply. “Alright! Enough cooking talk. I’m going to go get the gifts!”

She hops up and animatedly runs off to her room, ponytail swinging behind her. Without her cheer in the room, Zephyr’s drop in mood feels starkly apparent.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Vashyron says, voice low, the comfort voice as Zephyr has come to know it, an association from hearing it so many times before. “And I’m going to tell you it isn’t true. You don’t have to live up to your own expectations, Zephyr, ‘cause I know they’re high and unattainable. So stop that brain of yours ticking for once; you deserve this as much as anyone.”

There are many voices Zephyr has come to know in his life, and this one almost beats out the one of self-loathing. He looks Vashyron in the eye and then casts his gaze down again. “It’s easy to convince myself I don’t.”

“It’s always easy to hate yourself,” Vashyron replies, “but come on. Did you see the way Leanne changed tact there? She wants you to enjoy this. Hell, I want you to enjoy this. The sooner you start telling yourself that you’re allowed to have fun, the more you’ll start to believe it.”

“I know that,” Zephyr says, looking at his hands. “I’m working on it.”

Vashyron slaps him on the back in a friendly manner, not hard enough to hurt, and Zephyr returns his line of sight to the door of Leanne’s room. She emerges moments after, iridescent paper, elaborate bows adorning the top. He almost feels embarrassed at how happy the gesture makes him. The shapes give them away; he already knows what lies beneath the paper.

“Happy Birthday!” Leanne declares again, handing them to him with a flourish. The wrapping effort had obviously been done by her, as every edge was perfect and Vashyron would never have bothered with something as superfluous as a bow on top. He takes this into account as he opens them, being careful with the paper instead of ripping it to pieces like he probably would have normally.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, probably leaking emotion anyway, leafing through pages of the new books. When he looks up again, Leanne is beaming and Vashyron is wearing his favourite easy smile. Home feels like home; this is the only place he’s ever felt like he’s belonged.

“Leanne said there was a romance novel in there,” Vashyron laughs, “so watch yourself.”

“He’ll like it!” Leanne argues, hands on her hips. “He likes anything!”

Zephyr laughs too, unable to keep any kind of grin off his own voice. “Really, thanks.” he says again. “This is…”

“Don’t you dare say anything sappy like, _‘this is the best birthday ever!’_ ” Vashyron warns, “Because then I’ll need to question you on what you’ve done with the real Zephyr."

Zephyr rolls his eyes, and then shakes his head. “I was _going_ to say that this was more than I expected, but you had to go and ruin it.”

“That’s more than I thought we were going to get,” Leanne says. “I thought you’d mooch down, take the presents, and then mooch right back up again.”

“Thanks for that.” Zephyr says.

“She’s not wrong. That’s exactly what you did for your 17th.” Vashyron points out.

“I hadn’t even known it was your birthday until Vashyron passed you that new handgun,” Leanne sighs, flopping back onto the sofa. “But it’s fine, ‘cause we got there in the end, right?”

Zephyr nods, and then he says, “I don’t have anything planned like, fancy dinners out or stuff like that.”

Leanne and Vashyron nod. “We know,” they say simultaneously. “Figured it wasn’t your kind of deal anyway,” Vashyron finishes.

“I like quiet days as much as I like big days,” Leanne says, snuggling down into the only comfy part of the couch. “Just us. Sounds nice.”

No fronts he needs to put up, no secrets between any of them; it’s his favourite place to be. “I want command of the TV remote,” Zephyr declares, and then he snatches the box away from Vashyron’s lap before he can protest. “Hah, it’s mine now."

“You’re lucky it’s your birthday,” Vashyron mutters good-naturedly, “or I’d be wrestling you into the ground.”

“I’d win anyway.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“I’d win,” Leanne cuts in, “because none of you would see me coming.”

Vashyron laughs, loud and heartily. Zephyr looks at the gifts and thinks about where he’ll put them. Maybe it’s time to move his old texts onto the shelf by his bed and put the new books there instead. “I’ll be right back. Leanne, you guard the remote.”

“You got it!”

He throws it to her, grabs his jacket and pulls it on, and then takes the three novels back upstairs to his room. It’s still cold, but he doesn’t feel it as much this time. His room is just as empty as he left it.

Putting the new books on his tiny table, he picks up the Bible and feels its leathery consistency beneath his fingers. Zephyr isn’t materialistic; that much is evident by the lack of objects in his room, but he’s quick to attach sentimental value to the objects he does possess. There are memories layered onto this texture, things he’d want nothing more to forget and things he’d give everything to keep. A girl is hidden in its pages, her smiling face charming and sweet. She has the same eyes as him, baby blue. He wonders if he shares her smile, and wishes he could remember it as vividly as the picture shows it.

But wishes are wishes, and there’s no point in the what if's, so he holds the Bible to his chest for a moment, before putting it on the shelf. It’s not gone, just out of sight. Why hasn’t he thrown it away? He knows why; because his past, for all its horrors, doesn’t deserve to be thrown out with it.

He deserves today, he tells himself in his own voice, and he deserves to be able to move on. Ghosting his hand over the old book once more, he turns and heads back out, downstairs to where the other two wait.

He deserves today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested, I elaborate more on Zephyr and books in my RoF headcanon post on tumblr! You can find me under my url xsparklingravenx, and then click on the Resonance of Fate headcanons tab on my blog!


	3. Leanne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vashyron’s still out late and Zephyr is still putting himself through his own version of repentance so she’s going to spend this evening alone. Leanne wouldn’t be as sad about it if it wasn’t her birthday tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE'S YOUR HALF YEARLY UPDATE and the final instalment because I am horrendously slow at fic writing! This one like the others is just pure fluff, so please enjoy!
> 
> For reference, I like to think think that Vashyron's encounter with Rebecca also happened at Christmas time as it ties all three of them together in yet another way, so that's the idea I'm going with in this chapter! It's nice that at least one of the characters have a canon birthday haha!

The run up to Christmas is unpleasant in many ways. For Vashyron, it’s a sombre reminder of a monster and job that changed his life. For Zephyr, it’s the same devastating time of year as the night that he’ll never let himself forget. For Leanne, it’s a tenuous memory of a drop that was supposed to kill her, standing on the edge of Chandelier, wind blowing in her hair as the bitter cold of winter took her breath from her.

Sweet Home is silent on Christmas Eve as Leanne sips her tea, circling the circumference of the cup with her forefinger when she rests it on the table. The taste always reminds her of Juris, of a different home at a different time, a cup left unfinished in a rush of emotion and excitement that would come shattering down moments later. This is one of the associations she has never managed to break, even when burnt toast now tastes like a new home and the ticking of a time piece is no longer synonymous with a death she would have caused herself.

Last Christmas was good, giving out presents for the children on the 25th. In hindsight she realises that having something to do had been good for them all because it had distracted them from the time of year. There was no time to think about lives lost or birthdays that were actually deathdays when there were costumes to fit and presents to wrap. This year there has been no such distraction. The two of them are fine during the day; ordinary chats and ordinary missions, but come evening, Zephyr all but locks himself in his room while Vashyron disappears on jobs.

She had wanted to go with him tonight just to have the company, but he’d said no. It was unlike him to be so blunt or turn down help, but maybe he just didn’t want Zephyr left alone. Sometimes it’s difficult, understanding either of them. She could understand maybe taking one day to mourn or be mopey, but Zephyr seems to think it’s fine to take over a week this time while Vashyron drowns his trauma in the sounds of gunshots. Maybe she’s being unfair. Everyone deals with their demons in their own ways, and who is she to dictate how they deal with theirs?

Shivering, she sips her tea again and thinks about turning the TV on. She doesn’t, but that’s only because she’s comfortable and it’s cold. The buzz wouldn’t make her feel any less alone anyway. Vashyron’s still out late and Zephyr is still putting himself through his own version of repentance so she’s going to spend this evening alone. She wouldn’t be as sad about it if it wasn’t her birthday tomorrow.

Is that petty? She worked so hard for their birthdays, to make them feel loved and appreciated. Is it really so selfish of her to want something in return? A part of her says yes, that she shouldn’t expect anything of them, but the more dominant part puts its foot down. Look at her, policing her own thoughts like this. Of _course_ she deserves something back. They’re her boys and even if December isn’t the best month of the year for any of them, it’s her birthday!

Finishing off her tea, she lets out an audible sigh before grabbing her coat and stomping upstairs. She puts it on before going out onto the roof, striding over to the door to Zephyr’s room and banging on it. “Zephyr!”

No response, which isn’t surprising. She bangs a little louder. Eventually he responds, voice muffled by the door between them. “What?”

Oh. She hadn’t actually expected to get this far. Last time this had happened he’d refused to say a word to her. It’s why she hadn’t bothered trying this year. “Um, I’m lonely.” She says lamely, and then realises he probably can’t hear her. “Come out!” she opts for instead, more forcefully this time.

“Not now, Leanne!”

“Zephyr, I’m tired of you just leaving me to mope! It’s Christmas _Eve!_ ”

“I’m _busy!_ ”

“This time of year is tough on me too, you know!”

There’s a long pause, and for a moment Leanne worries she went too far by even referencing the month. Then suddenly, the lock on the door clicks and it opens, revealing Zephyr standing in a warm looking shirt and bed trousers. He looks surprisingly cuddly for someone who typically looks like he could cut people with his eyes. “Agh, it’s cold out here,” he complains, ushering her in. “C’mon, quick, I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

Blinking, she walks in and lets him shut the door behind them. His room is brightly lit, a cheap yellow glow casting over his limited possessions and almost bare bed. On his small table are several scraps of coloured paper, decidedly very out of place in Zephyr’s plain room. It’s odd. Last time she’d been in here, books had dominated the space. “Um. Zephyr?”

“What?” he says sharply, looking over at the paper self consciously before sitting on the edge of the table in a poor attempt to cover it. “Okay wait, that didn’t come out right, sorry. I don’t know what you _think_ I’ve been doing in here but, uh, moping isn’t it.”

She stands in the middle of his room, not sure where to put herself. It’s always been a bit alien in here, like standing in a different dimension to the rest of Sweet Home. It feels less like home in this room and more like a room at Aetersyl. “…You haven’t?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve been working on that. But um, I’m kind of busy. Distracting myself is a good way to put it I guess. You can sit down if you want.”

She doesn’t know if she quite believes him or not, but the paper on his desk definitely means he’s up to something. Narrowing her eyes at him, Leanne regards him suspiciously. “Oh really?” she says pointedly. “What is busy supposed to mean then? Why did you ignore me? What’s all this about then?”

He winces. “Enough with the questions! I was just caught up with what I was doing, so, sorry about ignoring you. As for the busy part...that’s _supposed_ to be a surprise.  You’ve come in at a really bad time. I was trying to finish.”

“Oh.” She says softly, the small pieces of this puzzle coming together. Apparently she’d not had enough faith in him. “But…! You’ve just gone and left me alone all evening for the last week!”

That gets a grimace out of him. “I couldn’t exactly do it downstairs. It’s not my fault Vashyron chose this week to get everything done too...tch.” he crosses his arms and sighs. “We didn’t do anything last Christmas Eve. I didn’t know you thought it was an important day.”

“That’s because we were sorting things out for Cardinal Theresa! Of course Christmas Eve is important.” Leanne pouts as she says it for maximum effectiveness. Zephyr’s weak points are few and far between, but she knows the ones he does have well. Predictably, he crumbles quickly.

“Okay, okay, sorry. Sorry. We’re both sorry. That is, Vashyron too, cause he’s an idiot and he probably didn’t realise.” Zephyr pauses, and then hops off the table. “…Now the gremlin is out of the bag, I can’t exactly work on your birthday present anymore while you’re here.”

Leanne can’t stop the smile that blooms on her lips. “You made me something?”

“Don’t get too excited,” Zephyr says, walking past her to his bed. Now, when she looks, she can see something brightly coloured peeking out from beneath it, as if it had been hastily shoved there. “I got a little ambitious. It isn’t great.”

He reaches down and picks it up carefully, presenting it to her. “Happy early Birthday,” he says shyly, not meeting her eyes. “I can still finish it off, if you want to wait."

She takes it gently, casting her gaze over it. They’re roses, a bundle of roses. Countless amounts. Not real roses, of course, but poorly folded, multicoloured paper ones. “There’s this special paper or something,” Zephyr begins to explain quickly, clearly embarrassed. “It’s meant to be good for this kind of thing, but even after I bought that _and_ the guide book it still didn’t come out that well. Uh, it’s called origami I think. I’m not very good at it. I wanted to get you real flowers but they’re still hard to come by and I-”

She cuts him off, hugging him tight. Zephyr is the kind of person who is difficult to embrace because human contact makes him turn into a person shaped piece of wood, but he doesn’t push her off. “Thank you, Zephyr,” she grins. “They’re great.”

He stutters over his response long enough for them to be interrupted by someone knocking on Zephyr’s door. “You kids in there?” Vashyron’s voice comes, muffled and curious.

Detangling herself from Zephyr, Leanne goes over and opens the door, flowers still balanced in her hand. Vashyron stands huddled in his jacket, his breath visible in the cold, clutching a small bag. “Looks cosy in here,” he says. “You gonna let me in? What the hell is that you’ve got there? Some kind of arts and craft project gone wrong?”

“Don’t be rude!” she says, frowning. “You can come in when you tell me where you’ve been all week if you haven’t been off being dramatic like I _thought_ you were.”

“I’m always off being dramatic,” he says, smirking a little when she glares. “Hah, I’m kidding, I’m kidding! I can’t tell you that til midnight. Seriously, what are you holding?”

“My birthday present,” she says proudly. “Zephyr made it for me.”

“Oh yeah, I can tell Zephyr had a hand in that alright, whatever it is. All the finesse of a yeti.”

“Says you, who can’t even cook dinner for yourself!” Zephyr says, joining Leanne at the door. “Leanne’s mad at us ‘cause we left her alone all week.”

Vashyron has at least the grace to look guilty. “I’ve been working hard for this! Christmas presents _and_ a birthday present on top of that don’t come cheap.”

Leanne perks up at the mention. “Well…I guess I can’t stay mad at you for that.” she says, sidestepping to let him in.

He’s quick to slam the door behind him, shivering as he sits on the bed. “Damn, it’s cold. I should invest in a winter coat. What’s Zephyr doing giving you a birthday present early anyway?”

“I made him feel bad.” Leanne admits.

“Eh, as good a way as any. Can’t believe you _made_ something, kid,” he says, directing his attention towards Zephyr. “Didn’t think artsy stuff was your style."

“It isn’t.”

“That makes it more special,” Leanne smiles. “So…”

Vashyron looks at her. “So…?”

She grins some more. Pouting is a Zephyr only thing. “Can I…?”

Vashyron is good at this game though. “Can you…?”

She’s going to need to be blunt. “Can I have my birthday present early? Please?”

Vashyron pulls a face as if he’s pondering it. The wait is almost agonising. Eventually Zephyr shoves his back. “Don’t keep her waiting.”

He laughs. “Alright, alright. Shut your eyes and hold out your hand, Leanne.”

She does, smiling when something small and square lands in her waiting palm. She takes a moment to feel it, and then opens her eyes again. A tiny black box stares up at her, waiting to be opened. “Go ahead,” Vashyron says. “And just so you know, Zephyr put some rubies towards this too.”

Gently she pries it open, stopping to gasp when she sees what’s inside. The opal necklace shimmers in blue, catching the light in all the right places.

“Quartz is so last year,” Vashyron says. “But blue suits you. Come here, I’ll put it on for you.”

“Thank you,” she says, the words gushing out as she passes it to Vashyron and stands with her back to him. He puts it around her neck gently, and she can’t help but touch the stone. “Thank you both so much!”

“Happy Birthday,” Vashyron says. “You deserve it.”

“Happy Birthday,” Zephyr says again, the smallest of smiles settling on his lips.

Her heart feels as if it could burst, like she’s so happy she might collapse into tears at any moment. Of course they would come through for her. She had been a fool to think they wouldn’t. She’s loved, appreciated, cared for. “I love you guys,” she says.

Vashyron ruffles her hair in response. She doesn’t complain. “We gonna drink tomorrow?”

“You bet!”

“Count me out.” Zephyr says predictably.

“Party pooper.” Vashyron says.

She shakes her head fondly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, if you're interested in other RoF tidbits, such as headcanons, other fic, or just hearing me ramble, you can head over to my tumblr where I'm under the same name. If you're feeling like even MORE fic, or if there's something in particular you want to see, you can even prompt or request me and I'll see what I can do! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


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